As the thick smoke ascends towards the never-ending sky, and the warring display of fluently periodic bangs and blasts sulk as it slowly approaches its extinction, the anticipated merriment nears its slumber. Luck, in one night, becomes a phenomenon. It plays Santa Claus in an hour, as it enters and exits households. And as quickly as it enters is as quick as it goes. In this reveling of nights, luck is synonymous to hope.

10 minutes before midnight, and the built-up pressure generated by memories of long ago celebrations gradually emanates through a socially-contorted face. The anticipation of a neglected paradox, an end and a beginning, crawls upward for attention. I headed outside, prepared to witness an annual display of irrational, yet joyful spending. And as minutes drop off the flag, I buckled my imaginary seatbelt, grab hold of an imaginary popcorn, and tilted my head upwards to obtain a more vantage view. My heart beats together with the claps of distant fireworks. I reckon it was excitement, but I realized otherwise. As the sharp scent of smoke pierces through my system, my body kicks in overdrive and prepares itself for a fight or flight response. I have been in a duress battle between asthma, and once a slight symptom pops out, all else follows. I remained vigilant amidst the scare of an enduring torture of breathlessness. I have to fight this necessary dispute so I won’t miss the illustrious display of magnificence. As firecrackers take its last flight towards suicide, its transient lights leave onlookers both in awe and fright. The once philanthropic midnight sky has become a battlefield of many wishes.

And as 12 struck the bell, the once mesmerizing sky of faint sparkles and twinkles became a spectacle of transient lights. The midnight sky during New Year always has been psychedelic. As streaks of golden combustion rises up, one always expect a finale worthy of a standing ovation. I am in awe of how illuminated the sky was. The atmosphere, moreover, is broken by periodic artificial thunders brought about by a powdery concoction. The patch of road where I was currently standing was once silent. But during this time of the year, silence is a commodity one is keen to avoid. It’s the pandemonium that is a priced thingamajig during this incipience. The happy kind of ruckus breaks the boundaries of social status; everyone is seeing the same sky, everyone is hearing the same thundering explosions, everyone is offered the same opportunity of a new start.

But in all this exaggeration and an inefficacious narration of an awaited climax, the scent of frugality is putrid. It overpowered the scent of burnt black powder. The street was not as loud as it was. The sky was not as illustrious as it was. The celebration is left hanging, wanting for more. But none saved the haphazard revelry; an anticlimactic end to a new beginning. And insofar as I can vividly recall, the barrage of noise, the bombardment of ephemeral lightshow, and the uninhibited welcoming of hope, is amiss in this year’s attempt. The one single sight that left me holding my breath was a sky lantern floating by the smooth breeze. It was unadulterated, pure and simply an eccentric sight amidst the background of flashing lights. Sky lanterns carry wishes and bring it to the sky. It was a floating paradox; a peaceful medium unperturbed by a variety of commotion. And wherever that lantern decides to land, it will surely etch an emotive memory. Perhaps I’m going to fly one myself during such time or other appropriate events.

And as the explosion and flashes weakened, I gone back inside, took a seat, and contemplated. What is truly beautiful about this night? Gone are the bygone days where you literally get deafened by the commotion of revelry. And amidst the anticlimax, I felt a sense of hope, an anemic feeling of contentment, but contentment nonetheless. I forage through the canopy of possibilities and found three likely candidates that induced such a feathery feeling.

First is the awe and joy etched on the faces of the children that partied on the streets. It was a genuine, uncorrupted sense of happiness. The bliss on their faces is breathtaking. It captured the true essence of a fresh hope in one single moment in time. Their flawless awe is a study in contrast: a serene sight brought about by a frightful pandemonium. Second is the moment bringing out the lost youth in everyone. I personally was an innocent victim of an innocent murder of childhood. Back in the heydays, when the ruckus was much more earthshaking than today, my ears was covered by a huge headset to muffle the noise. I was placed as far away as where the commotion was in order to avoid the sharp scent of dying firecrackers. A whiff could cause me my life. An asthmatic kid, I was able to see the wondrous display of light in a body-contorting place, I was able to hear the explosions in silence. But during this night, when I am now able to make things more special, I ignored the troubles lurking beyond the now. And by doing so, I found my lost youth. I felt the child in me surfacing; fighting its way up against a concrete slab of social proof. I would have shouted if not for my inhibitions. I would have jumped. But I did not. But I was satisfied to have to feel the child in me. The child in me that was suppressed long ago is but alive, gliding atop the sea of induced maturity. I am a child, always has been.

The third and last candidate for the feeling of contentment was the feeling of family. The feeling that wherever you may go, whatever you may do, and whoever you may become, you still have a place to come back to, a room where you will be assured to belong; a feeling that no matter the mistakes, you will still be accepted and believed in. And that amidst the languid sense of family, it will perpetuate till you ran out of breath, by asthma or by death. It’s always going to be there, all you have to do is search.

2010 is gone and has now become a memory, vivid or otherwise. 2011 has just begun. I have been inappropriately gifted during this bygone year; given the love of my life. 2011 is an uncertain year. An era of misty tomorrows. But I am continually hopefully. Steadfast in my belief that amidst the scare of armagedon, as long as I have her in my embrace, I am secure. Thank you for knocking on my door, entering my universe, and choosing to stay. If it will be forever, so be it. Forever may be but a figment of thought, but you are not. You are real, and that makes forever matter less. Forever will always be by your side, and may 2011 be the start of our journey towards that forever.